Gap Year
by Poli Almasy
Summary: Courier Six sets out trying to confirm that her memories are real. The problem is she has two sets of memories and a collection of skills that don't make sense in combination. f!Courier/Veronica, f!Courier/Benny and one-sided f!Courier/Arcade
1. Chapter 1

I've got to get on with posting this or it will never get done.

Story is f!Courier/Benny, f!Courier/Veronica and one-sided f!Courier/Arcade. I'm imagining about four chapters or so, maybe more if there's any interest.

–

Mint tried to ignore the familiar throbbing in her head. Between the bullet and the constant battle with dehydration the outlook was not so hot. It was difficult to believe that she had spent her entire life in the Mojave; she didn't feel like she was built for this punishment.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Veronica was sitting by the campfire tinkering with ED-E in her lap. If she wasn't sure the robot was deactivated, Mint would of thought she could hear the thing purr with contentment.

"I don't have a choice." Mint looked north, toward the Strip. The lights twinkled in the distance against the dense blanket of dark sky. The world always seemed so dark after the blinding sand of the day. Tomorrow they would reach Freeside and start prowling for a way in. They were two intelligent, industrious young women, they'd find a way.

Mint's mind was still a mess. Her memories felt like currents. One minute she was sure she knew who she was and the next it all seemed far away. Like maybe it had all been in a movie she was mistaking for her her own life.

ED-E whirled back to life and took up guard position. It would alert them to any trouble during the night. It was a real luxury to not have to sleep in shifts. They made better time during the day because of the robot, even if it was a finicky thing that had a bad habit of seeking out trouble instead of merely warning them to its presence.

"He might know who I am. Like really know. I have so many memories of him. I don't know, it's so hard to tell."

When Mint first woke up in Doc Mitchell's home she seemed to have a host of memories revolving around the man in the checkered coat. The plainest was the shot to the head, but others seemed equally vivid. None were nearly as disturbing and most seemed simple, kind and affectionate. She remembered walking alongside him, her hands shoved in her trouser pockets. He wasn't wearing the coat, they were both rougher, covered in dirt and dust. She was a child, maybe fourteen, and he couldn't have been older than twenty. He told her how he was going to make things right, that he was going to lead them to the safety Bingo had rejected.

She didn't know who Bingo was and at the time she couldn't remember the name of this man she had so many memories of. She knew now that he was Benny. He was Benny and she was Mint and she was sure that on her seventeenth birthday he had kissed her. Her palms were sweaty even though the room at the Tops had been cool.

Maybe they hadn't been her memories at all. There wasn't one to explain how she ended up face first in a grave.

Veronica snuffed out the campfire and offered her hand to help Mint to her feet. The shack they had commandeered had a door but no latch. The sun had set long enough ago that the inside was no longer sweltering. They had unrolled their sleeping bags before eating dinner and Mint was thankful that she didn't have to go through the effort now. As hard as it was to stay awake, sleep seemed equally daunting.

–

Mint always seemed to wake earlier than Veronica. V claimed that her internal clock was completely fucked from living in a hole in the ground. She was never quite sure which way round was dawn. Mint rummaged through her pack and took two Mentats. They would help her headache, at least for a bit.

"Aww, you really are my favorite junkie." Veronica was stretching like a cat. Her fists nearly bumped into the wall of the shack as she extended her body lewdly. A hint of her stomach was exposed between her shorts and cotton shirt. Mint certainly wasn't immune to the scribe's charms but she couldn't risk fucking this up, not when they were so close getting her sorted out.

Veronica talked about nothing at all while they got dressed and packed up. ED-E seemed happy to see them alive and well. It buzzed merrily around Mint's head as they set off. The two women split a box of Sugar Bombs as they walked, eager to make as much progress as possible before the sun and the heat made walking unbearable. Mint would have sworn that she dreamt about apples and carrots and baked bread, anything but this irradiated shit.

Really she had dreamt about herself as a dirty-faced child. She was learning to fire a rifle and she was terrible at it. The kickback was too much for her light frame and the bullets never seemed to go where she intended. Her instructor was a big brute of a woman with little patience. It was hard to imagine how a person got that big when there never seemed to be enough food around. Maybe the woman with hands like dinner plates had eaten it all and that's why the children went hungry. They sucked the marrow out of mole rat bones and proclaimed it a feast.

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier..." Veronica started. They were holding hands now. Mint wasn't sure for how long. Both their hands were sweaty but they held on "That the memories don't seem like your own. Do you think someone could have planted them?"

Mint shook her head, violently curly tufts of brown hair falling in front of her eyes. She broke contact with Veronica and tied her hair back again. "I mean, I don't think so. Can people even do that?"

"I heard about this doctor, a neurosurgeon I think. Ex-Enclave. The Brotherhood were trying to keep track of him. Precautionary measures, you know? He's been around the Mojave for awhile now, at least we think. They lost track of him after HELIOS." Veronica's pronouns always shifted when she spoke of the Brotherhood, '_we_,' '_them_,' '_us_,' '_it_.' It was terrifying neither of them knew where they stood in the world.

"If they're not my memories I've got nothing at all." Mint had been searching desperately for confirmation. She realized that the only hope she had was Benny confirming the memories already in her mind. But if they weren't hers, there was nothing left for her to fall back on.

She had a memory of ED-E, all in pieces on the counter of the Mojave Express office in Primm. Upon arriving at the overrun town she sneaked into the little run-down shop and found it exactly as she remembered. Barring the door with a chair, a weak attempt to keep the convicts out, she set to work reviving the robot and after three quarters of an hour it came to life.

But that didn't make sense, did it? How did a tribal girl know how to rewire an Enclave bot?

They reached Freeside in the early evening. Still plenty of time to find lodging, hopefully a bath, and set to work finding a way into the Strip. They'd spend the night in Freeside and hopefully storm the Tops first thing in the morning.

Once inside the gate, Veronica went to work trying to make herself less conspicuous. The scribe was particularly cautious about her identity being discovered. Mint didn't know much about the Brotherhood. She had, however, heard enough mumblings when their name was mentioned to assume that Veronica wasn't being all that paranoid in her rituals. She stashed away her power fist and laser pistol in exchange for a set of brass knuckles and a pristine 10mm.

They wandered through the streets without much of a sense of urgency. Half a dozen caps "donated" to one of the kids running about got them the information that they should look for a room at the Wrangler and someone named "the King" was the person to see in regards to getting into the Strip.

Mint twirled her baseball bat around like it was a marching band baton. She had seen a holotape once, she thought, and went on to imitate the elaborate patterns the smiling, fresh-faced girls had executed so perfectly. Where had she seen the holotape?

They made it to a corner building labeled, helpfully "The King's School of Impersonation." Excellent.

The King was polite and well-spoken. The same couldn't be said for Pacer, who had demanded 50 caps for an audience with the King.

But like everyone else the King wanted a favor for a favor and Mint felt like they just didn't have the time. Still, they parted on good terms. The King put his hand on Veronica's arm before the left and asked her to come see him again. They could barely contain their laughter until they were out the door.

"So how do you suppose we're going to get past those Securitrons. I mean, we watched them toast the refugee earlier."

"They're just robots, right?" Mint looked up at ED-E, the mystery that he was. "You and I, we know robots."

"That's true. But if it's as simple as knowing robots, you'd think that someone else would have figured them out already."

Mint shrugged, "Maybe they have. How would we know?"

"You sure are a weird one, Miss Mint." Veronica messed with her hair under the confines of her hood.

"Yes," she rolled her eyes, "I'm the weird one in this duo."

ED-E buzzed.

"Trio." Mint popped a Mentat. This would be her last before bed, she swore.

–

Mint woke before Veronica, again. Her arm was draped over the scribe's torso. They were huddled together in the narrow bed at the Atomic Wrangler that they had shared. It was time to get going.

Even though she had showered the night before, Mint made her way to the bathroom again, one, well, maybe two tasks had hand. The water was cool and pure and she let it run into her mouth, spitting it out when her mouth felt full and repeating the process. She wasn't built for the Mojave.

She closed her eyes and ran through another memory. She was laying on her back, the plush camel colored carpet of Benny's suite soft against her back. She was nineteen and in a purple dress. No one had even seen a purple dress before. New Vegas was full of things that none of them had seen before and even two years on they were all discovering odds and ends that made their new home seem very strange indeed.

Benny came in, not expecting her and plopped down on the floor right next to her. He had gotten paler over the years. They were all getting less sun. Her skin was still caramel. He stat next to her and counted the freckles on her face until she felt utterly self-conscious.

She was twenty-two now. Something must have happened in the intervening three years. But it wasn't there. She did have a memory from twenty, but Benny wasn't in it. There was a tall blonde man with glasses. He punched her in the arm and she tackled him to the ground in retaliation. His white coat got covered in dust but they both smiled through it. The memory was fond but it was also wrong. She was wearing clean, pressed slacks and a shirt with buttons. All her memories of the tribe were in boys cast-offs. All her memories of the Tops were dresses or nothing at all. This one she was sharp, professional. When the blonde smiled at her she felt the same way as when Benny kissed the side of her mouth at first but it was followed by a dull ache. All of Benny's memories were searing. What had happened between nineteen and twenty?


	2. Chapter 2

Mint's dreams were vivid, even when she was awake.

She dreamt of the tall blonde man in the white lab coat. He was fiddling with the pip boy on her arm. Not this pip boy, the one the Doc gave her. Another one that was filled with holotapes, holotapes with baton twirlers. The blonde played with her pip boy as it was still attached to her arm. After awhile all the blood had drained from her fingertips after her arm was propped up for too long. She didn't mind because he smelled wonderful. Like dust and crushed flowers.

Mint and Veronica stood in front of the massive wooden doors of the Old Mormon Fort armed with another name that might be able to help them, Julie Farkas. Their fingers were laced together and Mint would deny that her hands were shaking. There was a breeze through her armor and she was cold, that was all. Only the Mojave was never cold. She had been cold once, somewhere. Not here though.

The gate swung open entirely too fast for something so imposing, like a Brahmin on skates. Inside it smelled like vomit and pus and dust. Whole fucking world smelled of dust. It got into everything. Benny teased her that it was in her blood, in her mother's blood. There were never any memories of her mother. Benny and Swank and the woman with dinner-plate-hands, but never her mother. There was dust in her blood, that's why she never burnt.

Julie was pretty and sweet and smart. She would have made an excellent third, no wait, fourth (sorry ED-E) addition to their pack. Her hands worked at refilling syringes as she spoke. One of her colleagues had been to the Strip recently. As far as Julie knew, Emily was still there, working on some robot. She had a knack for technology. Mint listened, V paced.

After thanking the Follower for her help, Mint was more convinced than ever that she and Veronica could reprogram the bots guarding the gate. Between V's Brotherhood education and Mint's...abilities from an unknown source, they could figure this shit out. Bots were, by their very nature, predictable.

Mint's memories were anything but.

"Callie?"

Mint responded to a name she had not known was hers.

"Y-yes." The word was heavy in her mouth, but she knew that name. It was as much her name as Mint. It was either both or neither. She couldn't be sure.

"Callie!" The blonde who made her ache, dully. He swept her up and pressed her close against his chest. Dust and crushed flower petals. Black rimmed glasses and a cautious smile. Arcade.

"Arcade." Like a lead bullet on her tongue. She remembered this man without really knowing him.

"Callie, Callie, Callie...where have you been?" He mumbled onto the top of her head. She wasn't short, not by a long shot. Maybe even a bit tall compared to other women. But Arcade dwarfed her. She remembered this.

"Got shot in the head," her tone was deliberately suspicious. "How long have I been gone?"

Mint glanced over to where Veronica was standing. The scribe was, reasonably, on edge. She was biting the inside of her cheek, just wanting to say something.

Arcade looked at her quizzically. "Shot in the head? Do you not remember?" His hands moved through her hair, searching for evidence of her wound. His fingers lingered on the scar that had long since been hidden under dark curls.

"Some things, not others." She could be honest, or she could be suspicious. Suspicious would get her nowhere other than being alive a bit longer than being honest. Time to opt for honest.

"Do you know me?" It was an odd question to pose to Arcade when they were already so deep into the conversation.

"You're, I don't know, Callie...what is it you remember?" His concern was becoming more pronounced.

"I remember you. Though I didn't know your name until just now, until you called me 'Callie.'" Maybe she had twenty two names, one for each year of her life. "I have...memories of wrestling in the dirt." Arcade nodded at that admission, must have been true.

"You would knock me over. You've always been strong for your size. Like 200 pounds of super mutant in a woman's body."

"I remember that you like me...but not too much." She couldn't think of a more tactful or clearer way to express the sour feeling, the dull ache she felt while around him.

That made him smile, quirk his lips really.

"Yeah, I guess not too much." He punched her in the arm. "You got a new pip boy."

"If only I knew where I got the last one," she admitted sheepishly.

Puzzlement, again. "From the vault, Vaultie."

No, this didn't make sense at all. She had dust in her blood. Tribal girl with tribal memories.

"I don't remember the vault."

Veronica had remained suspiciously silent. Maybe she thought it wasn't her place to intervene in such a personal conversation. More than anything, Mint wanted V's fingers laced through her own. It would ground her, at least a little bit.

"You came out of Vault 3...at least that's what you told me, maybe when you were 17 or so?"

No memories stirred.

"No, 17 was when I moved to the Strip."

Arcade shrugged. "I didn't meet you until you were almost 20, maybe two years back? You told me you came out of Vault 3. Fiends killed your parents while you were out with a scouting group. You had to flee after that. Figured it was a sensitive subject, wasn't my place to pry."

No memories of parents, plural. Not a mother who was so much like her it made her shooting instructor boil with rage. "Her mamma was too good for the rifle too."

Mint closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. It was only then that she felt Veronica's hand deliberately rubbing against her spine, soothing. V really was the best. The absolute best.

"I-I need to think." Mint rummaged around in her pockets for her Mentat pack. Arcade's concerned look grew accusatory.

"Your head."

"It's real fucked up, Arcade." Her hands were shaking, seizing while the rest of her body held still. "V, let's go back to the Wrangler, yeah?" Mint could sense Veronica nodding from her position behind her. "Arcade, you'll be here, right? If I remember...or if I need help?"

"Yeah, I'm not exactly the adventurous type, you know. Or maybe you don't know."

"Don't know much about anything."

"Lay off these." He snatched the half empty Mentat's pack from her hands. No bother, she had more in her pack. Mint nodded in response, but it was a lie.

–

"Is your hole in the ground like a Vault?" Mint questioned

Veronica shrugged in the half-light. Mint had a headache that wouldn't quit, even with the drugs. "Not really. Different designers, meant for different purposes."

"But you've been in a Vault, right?"

"Oh sure, I would scav in the open ones for supplies for the fam. They freak out a lot of Wastelanders, so they're still full of the good stuff."

Mint propped herself up on her elbows to look at Veronica who was seated in a worn out armchair across the room. "Which one makes more sense, Tribal or Vaultie?"

"Is there an option C?"

"Fuck all, I hope not." She let her head thump back onto the too-soft pillow. "My skills all point to Vaultie, right? Science, meds, not bad with a laser pistol..." Mint fiddled with the knobs on the pip boy Doc had given her. "Knew how this piece of crap worked right away."

She ran through her vital stats. Picture perfect health. Couldn't really detect the headache. Wasn't designed for that sort of stuff.

"But then the memories are all of me as this dirty faced tribal girl. Benny's there and he's protecting me, keeping everyone else away..."

There was a new memory there. Two men yelling outside the shelter. They were yelling about her and her absent mother. Benny had her pressed close, his arms around her, as if trying to shelter her from the noise. No, there were two overlapping memories of the same scene. In one she was young, truly young, eight maybe. The men were yelling about her mother. Benny was twelve. They were both terrified and clung to each other out of fear, but Benny pretended it was only for her sake. He was tough. He would be chief one day.

The second memory was later, much later. She was sixteen and the men outside were yelling about her.

Benny was holding her again, but he was not afraid. Neither was she. She was shaking out of anger. She wanted to murder both men, tear them apart with her bare hands, rough as any boy her own age. Still, Benny murmured in her ear to be patient. He would kill them for her. He'd set the whole Mojave aflame if it suited him. The hilt of a combat knife was in her palm. She squeezed it tightly and then loosened her grip. Her other hand was clutching Benny's shirt. If he didn't kill them soon, she would take matters into her own hands.

No, he wasn't keeping them away from her. He was keeping her away from them.


	3. Chapter 3

I want to really really thank everyone who has reviewed + followed. It has motivated me to continue with this

Mint dreamt of Benny and woke up next to Veronica. Ever since the 188, Veronica had stood by her side, if for no other reason than she was interesting. Veronica was interested in her. Memories or not, maybe even because the memories were so haphazard. Mint couldn't blame V if her interest was purely scientific. Hell, if their roles were reversed, Mint might look at the scribe with intense curiosity as well.

Sure that Veronica wouldn't wake until Mint forcibly prompted her, she took account of her own body. Mint had, weeks ago, assessed herself for clues to her identity.

She was taller than most Wastelanders, even the men. Fitter too. She wasn't all skin and bones like those who had survived thus far on scavenged, irradiated leftovers from 200 years past. Her build wasn't all that different than Veronica's in that sense, someone who had access to food and water and but also engaged in strenuous physical activity. Many of the other women in the Wastes were...different. Their pants hung off bony hips but their arms lacked any sort of muscle tone. Their eyes looked hollow, men and women both.  
Between Goodsprings and Freeside they hadn't encountered many Tribals in close quarters. Legion, sure, but Mint wasn't quite sure if that counted. No females to compare herself to when it came to Legion anyway. They had seen Khans from a distance, but didn't pick useless fights.

Were Vaulties soft? Doc was the only former-vault dweller she had encountered and he was too old to make an assessment. But the mere fact he was one of the oldest people she encountered in the Wastes counted in his favor. Even without the safety of metal walls and food dispensers, he had thrived. Still was the nicest house she had been in. He was skilled, sharp, and unjaded.

...But what if there was an option C...

Mint rolled over to face Veronica, still sleeping. Veronica claimed she didn't dream. Mint only had her dreams.

Veronica's lips were soft and sure, even in a half-awake state. Mint had kissed her before, in a teasing, friendly sort of way. But they always stopped before things got too far. This time, she could feel Veronica smiling against her lips. Their suspiciously healthy teeth clattered against each other.

Veronica's fingers traced along the hem of Mint's boxer shorts. Mint rolled on top of the scribe and ground her hips against Veronica's broader ones. The friction was sharp and sweet. They continued to smile against one another. This felt good, but distant, even though it was happening in the present. Mint thought she should have been able to trust the present, at least. The problem was there were always those memories threatening to burst through in all their vivid glory.

Mint's dark, curly hair cast a curtain over them both as she leaned over to bring their lips together over and over again. Veronica was pushing back with her hips, lifting Mint up a bit and causing her to rock on the balls of her feet. Maybe it didn't matter so much who Mint was.

After a few minutes they both came to their senses and prepared for their day. On the dresser was a stack of Dean's Electronics that Mint had looked over the night before. She copied some of the relevant passages to her Pip-boy so she wouldn't have to tote around the hard copy versions.

Veronica holstered her pistol and tossed Mint the laser one. It was starting to look worse for the wear, but Mint wasn't the best shot and it often took more rounds than entirely nessasary to make sure something was good and dead. After all, it turned out humans were a fuck of a lot harder to kill than anyone expected. Nuclear bombs, shots to the head, certain starvation. People were toughfucks.

Downstairs Francine was manning the bar. Mint made sure to drop off enough caps for the following night, just in case they failed in their attempt to make it into Vegas and had to, yet again, reassess the situation. They had packed all their things, leaving only the old books behind in the room. Francine said that was fine, if they didn't come back she'd just sell 'em if it was all the same to Mint.

The corpse of that unlucky squatter had yet to be disposed of. No one cared since the streets always smelled or rot, no matter what the circumstance. Everything about settlements smelled wrong to Mint. Veronica smelled nice, so did Arcade. The two of them and the open Wasteland, when she and Veronica were miles away from the nearest town, when the stench of other people and their livestock (sometimes one and the same) were nowhere to be found.

"Hello, friendly bot!" Mint was enthusiastic. Robots could read emotions, but only very clear, direct ones. Happiness was probably a better choice than fear.

"Passport or submit to a credit check."

Mint smiled. It was easy to do so, she liked bots. "Well, letsee here...activate PDQ-88b recall code violet."

As the words passed from Mint's lips it was obvious that something was wrong. The Securitron's screen went dark and Mint's Pip-boy sputtered on her wrist, the screen went dark and would flash back to light. Then the entirety of her vision copied the pattern. The world around Mint went dark, then it was too bright and blinded her. She felt, distantly, like she was shaking. After three cycles she found herself sitting against a crumbling wall. Veronica was holding out a bottle of water and had a snack cake in her other hand.

"The fuck was that?"

"Well, you fried the bot pretty good. Shut straight down and got the attention of the others just out of earshot. So in that sense it worked." Veronica let an exaggerated pause hang in the air. "You also short circuited your Pip-boy and from the looks of it, scrambled your brain...again. It's like you're trying to be a basket case."

Mint groaned and redirected her eyes to her Pip-boy, the screen was dark and there was evidence of burn marks around her wrist. She didn't technically have to look at those to know they were there, but seeing them confirmed why she was in so much pain.

"Why the fuck," Mint fiddled with the Pip-boy strap, trying to wretch it off, "would my brain scramble from a bot command?"

"Do I get three guesses? I love guessing games!"

"Guess one is not that I'm a robot. Let's not even go there. I can't go there." Mint was pretty sure she wasn't a robot. Her accuracy was too fucking low.

"So that doctor who put your brain back together," Veronica started.

"Doc Mitchell."

"Vault doctor, yeah?" Mint nodded and let V continue. "Say your brain gets blown out, from, for instance, a douchebag with a 9mm. Brain matter everywhere, right? What do you replace that with?"

"For fuck's sake, V, I cannot take this"

"Robobrain!"

"I said being a robot isn't an option. Come up with something else, V."

"I didn't say you were a robot. Just...braaaains!"

"Fuck you, V. Let's just get inside before someone realizes what we've done." Mint stood up and brushed some dirt off of her pants. Plenty of grime remained behind.

Just as Veronica had indicated, they were able to get through the gate with no further issues.

Something seized inside Mint's truly human chest. She was afraid. She wanted to turn around and run back to the Old Mormon Fort and throw herself against Arcade.

Something was telling her that toward Vegas was the wrong direction. The bright lights and cheerful colors of the Tops casino pulled her forward against her better judgement.

She brushed off the robot that approached her. It had been "following" her for weeks now, always concerned with her well being. Where the fuck was it when she was trying to get inside the Strip? It reminded her it was best to meet with Mr. House sooner rather than later. She'd just as soon put a bullet through the old man's brain. There was a lot of that kind of hospitality going around.


	4. Chapter 4

Longer chapter, sex scene, good things all around! Reviews are always encouraging.

The Tops was thinly populated. The buildings of the Strip had been built in a populated world. Mint imagined at one time all the seats at the fabric lined tables could have been occupied by smartly dressed gamblers with pudgy bellies and full alcohol glasses. Everything about the world now was empty. Buildings were too large for the meager population and spaces always seemed oversized.

Only the liquor remained. Liquor and canned food and tables with cloth surfaces. Mint's vodka burned as it splashed down her throat.

Veronica was playing cards discretely as Mint surveyed their surroundings for the man in the checkered coat.

On their way in, Mint had caught a glimpse of Swank out of the corner of her eye. In a rush to get past the doorman, she relinquished all her weapons, even the ones she had meant to retain. If she had been recognized there might have been no hope of making it to Benny. Or maybe that would have made their task easier. There was no way to know. The reason for Mint's departure from the Tops was still missing from her memories. That fucking missing year.

Mint ascended the few steps up from the blackjack tables and headed back towards the entrance to loop around the floor one more time. Veronica held her position and flirted half-heartedly with the young, fresh-faced dealer. The kid looked like he had never seen the Mojave sun. Couldn't have been older than 16.

And there was the checkered coat, a Chairman to either side of him looking bored with their lot in life. Benny had told her that they were all getting a bit soft, but soft wasn't a bad thing. Soft and alive sounded better than hard and dead.

She approached Benny's turned back, not bothering to hide her presence. The bodyguards would only think her a threat if she gave them reason to. Maybe they would even recognize her. Maybe they would shoot her dead in any case.

Mint stopped six feet behind her target and waited for him to turn around. The look on Benny's face was as if he had seen a ghost. From his perspective he most certainly had.

"Smooth, keep it smooth doll..." He was visibly agitated. "Smooth like little babies..."

Even though the cigarette between his fingers was far from finished he put it out on one of the golden ashtrays that littered the floor and lit a fresh one. He offered a second one to Mint. She took it and coughed up when the smoke hit the back of her throat.

"Why don't you and I go to our room, Benny?" She had meant to sound seductive, and failed. If anything she sounded slightly feral. That could work too, right?

"Pussycat, all you and I got in common is a bullet." He took another confident drag.

Mint screwed her face, she needed to get him separated. She needed her answers.

She changed tactics. Scanning the memories that had returned to her since she woke up, she stopped being Courier Six, stopped being the woman who had killed her way across the Mojave and shared a bed with a runaway Brotherhood scribe and melted into that girl in her memories, the one in the purple dress.

"Benny..." She held his hand, cautiously at first, running her thumb over the back of his hand, over the ridges of his knuckles. She remembered this. She couldn't remember those same hands tying her wrists together and blindfolding her, dragging her to Goodsprings Cemetery. Those moments before her death were unimportant compared with the way she was now sure she ran her fingers over his knuckles. Touching him, even in this chaste way, confirmed that her memories of him had to be real.

"Doll, how do you..." Benny's demeanor had softened for a moment before becoming unreadable again. Still, he twined his fingers with hers and led her away, indicating to the other Chairmen that they were not to follow.

Veronica had been given strict orders to wait on the casino floor. Mint had been convinced all along that Benny would not try to kill her again. In fact, Mint wasn't really convinced he had tried to kill her in the first place.

They rode in the elevator silently, still holding hands. Benny's body heat against her left side was familiar. Mint felt more herself than she could ever remember, or not remember, something like that. As the floors ticked by his palm became sweaty. She didn't care in the least.

The door to their suite clicked behind them and Mint wasted no time. Her hands left his and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing their lips together. He smelled and tasted clean, free of dust and grime and the Wasteland that spit so many people out again. His hands were at her hips, pulling her closer and taking her slightly off balance.

"That bullet must have made you crazy, pussycat. Helluva way to pay a fink like me back."

Mint could feel the pads of his fingers gripping against her khakis. She felt ready to burst. There were no new memories but her chest felt like it might explode. What had gone wrong that he had shot her? Why was she a courier at all? Between nineteen and twenty...

"Benny."

"Pussycat..."

She cocked her head to one side, "Why don't you call me by my name? You always called me by my name."

It was Benny's turn to look confused,"I don't know your name, girlie."

Mint's blood ran cold.

"You don't recognize me?"

"Of course I recognize you. Looked you right in the eye before I pulled the trigger. Did it like a man."

Mint stepped back, releasing Benny's shoulders. "No, no, I have memories of you from before. Mint, I'm Mint, you liar." She couldn't stop herself from sounding frantic. He was lying to cover up what he had done. He was lying to conceal the fact he shot his lover for selfish gain. Liar, liar, liar.

This time he was on her, knocking her backwards onto the couch and pinning her below him. Though they were similar in height, he was much broader and heavier than she was. Panic seized Mint and for the first time she began to fear for her life.

"I'm the liar? Who the fuck do you think you are?" His face was turning red with anger. Mint struggled against his hold on her wrists. Even if she could manage to free her hands, he was still straddling her and had her hips pinned down with his weight.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of showing fear. "I don't know. Someone conveniently put a bullet through my fucking brain," seethed Mint.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Benny released her and paced back and forth in front of the couch before punctuating his curses with a fist through the drywall. His hand came away scraped and bleeding slightly, not enough to cause concern.

"That's my excuse, what's yours, Benny?"

"Where did you even hear that name?" Benny slumped against the wall until he reached a seated position. He looked completely drained.

"It's my name, isn't it? You told me we'd come here, that we'd be together...that no one would take me away."

The look in Benny's eyes made it appear that he was somewhere very far away. Mint was sure that had been her own default expression since waking up in Goodsprings.

"You're something, Girlie, but you're not Mint."

"You held me, when I was going to attack those men. When I was going to kill them. You calmed me down. I remember."

"Girlie, this is a sick joke. And I know sick." He smirked, but his eyes were still sad. "After all, I shoot pretty women in the face for personal gain."

Not-Mint stood and walked over to where Benny was sitting against the wall. She lowered herself next to him, still desperate to feel him against her, even if everything was still as wrong as it had been yesterday, the day before, the week...

"It feels the same, when I kiss you now, like it does in my memories." Not-Mint put her own fingers to her lips, mimicking their earlier kiss.

"I fucked you up real bad. That I'm sure of. But I don't know how you think you're a ghost. Well, I suppose I know how you might think you're a ghost. It's just the particular one you've selected." He let out a thin laugh.

She brought her fingers away from her lips and placed her hand over top of Benny's. The size discrepancy was similar to that in her memory. Similar enough that it fit. "You'll have to prove it to me I'm not her."

Benny's laughter continued. "What, dig up her grave? Parade her around? Girlie, it's been, what, five years? I don't have to prove a thing to you."

Benny stood and poured himself a glass of scotch. He poured a second and left it on the table for Not-Mint, but didn't bother to hand it to her. "I don't know what your game is, Girlie. Did the old man put you up to this? Or just your own brand of revenge?" He knocked back the scotch and poured another.

Not-Mint thought about ways to prove her identity. She had been unsure before reaching the Strip if her tribal memories were all there was to her story. Now, here, sharing the same space with the man who was a boy in her dreams, she was sure that those memories were legitimate. They no longer felt distant. Benny's denial only strengthened her resolve.

"You have a scar." Not-Mint passed the table, ignoring her scotch, and cornered Benny against the wall. He backed up, allowing her to corner him, but continued taking slow sips of his drink. He wasn't rushing through this glass.

Not-Mint traced her fingers over the outside of Benny's left leg, just below his hipbone. "It's right here. I gave it to you." She let her fingers dance along in a pattern she had memorized. From the twitch of Benny's lips, she could tell she had it right. "I pushed you into the ground. I was fifteen and you wouldn't kiss me. There was metal shrapnel on the ground. Cut through your shorts and then your flesh. I wouldn't let you up until you admitted you liked me."

Benny handed Not-Mint his now empty glass. "You're not her."

It was an accusation, but still his lips were on hers. The taste of scotch was still in his mouth and she didn't like it. While it was important that Not-Mint convince Benny that she was not lying, the immediate heat of his proximity was more important.

His hands raced for her hips and he pulled her off the ground, supporting her weight easily. Not-Mint still had the empty glass in one hand but used the other arm to wrap around Benny's shoulders. The kiss had broken but they both chose to breathe rather than speak. Not-Mint was afraid of another interrogation.

Only after Benny deposited her on the bed was she able to dispose of the glass, placing it on the bedside table. Benny used that same time to remove his jacket and dress shirt. His chest was softer than she remembered. Life on the Strip was easier than the Wastes. She didn't need garbled memories to know that. Still, he was fitter and stronger than most men she had encountered since waking, though he was the first she had seen in a state of undress.

Crude tribal tattoos snaked over his sides, permanent identifiers of a life they had deliberately left behind. While he had never said he was ashamed of them, it did seem like he kept them well enough hidden now, his shirt collars coming high enough to cover even the tendrils that approached his neck.

Not-Mint stripped away her own shirt before Benny was on her again. One hand dipped below the waistband of her pants while the other worked at the buttons. He radiated heat. Heat and power and desperation. There was little practiced about his movements, they were a frenzy of a man who had waited without any expectations. He was hungry for her now.

Stripped of their clothes, Not-Mint could not recall feeling so confident. This she knew even without the aid of her pieced together memories. Benny was in her muscle memory, she didn't have to recall anything in particular, it just happened.

Two fingers slid inside her while his thumb worked her clitoris. The circle he made was too tight, as if anticipating someone a bit smaller. His movements were welcome, pleasurable, but imperfect. Hers was a body he didn't yet know.

Not-Mint resolved to put the discrepancy aside.

Benny shifted down the bed and replaced his thumb with his mouth, still moving in a slightly incorrect pattern. Not-Mint bucked her hips to meet his tongue. One of his hands pushed down on her hip, trying to steady her and she rolled into her orgasm.

He gave her a moment to settle before rolling her to straddle him. Their lips met again and she could taste herself, all traces of the scotch were gone.

Not-Mint repositioned herself and guided Benny's cock into her. He grunted and threw his head back against the pillow, avoiding her eyes. It didn't bother Not-Mint in the slightest.

He allowed her to set her own pace, only rolling his hands across her body. Her chest, her hips, her back. Benny didn't speak, but occasionally their eyes would catch each other. He looked peaceful. The traces of his frantic initiation were long gone.

Not-Mint couldn't ignore the heat that was all around her, swallowing her. Benny felt like he was burning. Everywhere his hands touched she felt like she would go up in flames.

As he approached his own release, Benny took more definitive control of Not-Mint's movements. One hand on each hip regulated the pace of her thrusts against him and his own hips rose from the mattress to reach hers. His thumb played at her clit again, bringing her off again and causing her to push down onto his cock. Benny panted as he came, a habit of learning one's own body and those of others in close quarters with many suspicious ears. Not-Mint hadn't quite learned that trick.

Not-Mint rolled off of Benny as his cock began to soften inside her. She placed her head against his shoulder and he didn't indicate that he disliked her position, so she stayed.

"Girlie..."

"Mint..."

"I told you," he paused, "you're not her. But you do a hell of an impression."


	5. Chapter 5

Afterward, they did not sleep.

Not-Mint and Benny lay against each other for a long time in silence. The minutes ticked by as they existed in suspended animation. Covered by a thin sheet, their bodies cooled despite their proximity. The fire that had been just below the surface of Benny's skin had abated. Not-Mint was almost convinced that he was just any other man. However, she couldn't be fooled that easily.

She shifted her weight and rolled on top of him again. Her fingers traced the interlocking patterns of tattoos and scars across his chest. Benny gasped where some of the scars were more sensitive than others. Some wounds would damage nerve endings, others would build up a mass of scar tissue that was caked and rough. But some of the lines across Benny's form were smooth and responsive. Not-Mint lingered on those.

"You wore me out, Girlie. I don't think I can go another round quite yet."

Rather than breaking the spell, Benny's voice strengthened her resolve.

"So I'm really not her, Not-Mint?" Benny's hands had drifted to her hips. He placed one hand on each and held her loosely in place.

Benny's eyes remained closed as he spoke. His voice was even and clear, betraying everything in his attempt to conceal whatever emotions he had failed in eliminating over the preceding years.

"Buried her myself. What was left of her." He didn't expand on the circumstances of her death. Not-Mint didn't push him. "Here."

One hand left its position to fumble around in the nightstand drawer. Benny pulled out a photograph. It was pristine in all ways. The glossiness and vivid color struck Not-Mint as odd. She had seen a few photographs while raiding abandoned structures. Doc Mitchell said he had a working camera, but she hadn't seen it in action. Current photographs were a bit of a rarity. Those with enough technical expertise to fix up cameras generally dedicated their time to other things.

The surroundings of the Tops looked over-saturated compared to the muted colors she had seen downstairs. Everything about the picture looked bright, alive, like the last 200 years had never happened.

In the center of the picture were three figures. Benny stood on the left, a navy blue suit jacket slung over his left arm and his shirt unbuttoned at the top. He had clearly already misplaced his tie. The smile on his face was bright enough to light up the picture all on its own.

On the right was Swank, a cautious smirk on his lips and staring straight at the camera. He was flirting with it, or whoever it was behind it taking the picture. He was still neat in his appearance, tie in place and his hair was perfect in comparison to Benny's ruffled mess. His hands were in his pockets but he was still standing close to the other two.

The center of the picture was her, Mint. The real one. Benny's right arm was slung over her shoulder and her own arm was wrapped around his waist. While the two men were enamored with the camera, she looked half at her lover and half at the apparatus.

Mint's dark hair and light eyes were offset by a purple dress. The purple dress. No one had ever seen a purple dress before. Her caramel skin was a few shades darker than Benny's. It matched Not-Mint's almost exactly. But still the slope of the nose was wrong, Mint's was straight where Not-Mint had a distinctive bump. Mint was more petite next to Benny, at least three inches shorter than Not-Mint. These were all things that could be explained away. She broke her nose, late growth spurt. But those eyes haunted Not-Mint. They confirmed that she could not be the girl in the picture.

"I don't have blue eyes."

"No, you don't, Girlie."

Not-Mint hadn't changed positions and still straddled Benny, straddled someone else's love. She was a dead woman trying to replace a dead woman.

"Who was she?"

Benny took the photograph from Not-Mint's hands and placed it back in the end table without looking at it. "A witch." He returned his hand to the position on Not-Mint's hip. "But it didn't matter to me."

"A witch?"

Benny nodded. "She could...manipulate things around her."

"She had dust in her blood."

Benny's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Fair enough, he still didn't know who she was. But now Not-Mint didn't know who she was either.

"So you just woke up from that grave I put you in thinking you're her?"

Not-Mint climbed off Benny and lay beside him instead. She wasn't going to leave unless he insisted. Their intimacy still felt more natural than anything she had experienced thus far.

"No, I...I started having dreams. About you. About being children in the Boot Riders." Not-Mint stared at the ceiling above her. It had been painted but it did little to disguise the age of the building. None of these structures had been designed to carry the weight of centuries.

"I remember..." It was distant in her mind, the first memory. She hadn't thought about it in weeks now. Without the additional context she now had, it hadn't made sense at the time. "Swank pulled my hair and I fell over. I was crying and then he was crying too. You yelled at him."

"Mint was seven," Benny began coolly. "She and her mother had just arrived. After Mint fell, Swank was struck by a rock...dropped by a bird. Hit the top of his head and caused a gash. He's got a little bald spot there, even to this day. Covers it up like a professional." Not-Mint could hear the smile creep into Benny's voice.

"Manipulating things around her?"

"Exactly." Benny continued without further prompting. "Bingo was convinced that her mother would be the key to our success. No one would dare face us with two witches. Told us boys to stay away from Mint, that is, when we all got a little older. I was always bad at listening to him. Fought it for awhile, but she wouldn't let me get away with that. She felt it too."

"What other things could she...manipulate?"

"It was mostly stuff with animals. They would follow her, fight for her. Not just birds or dogs or small fry. Yao guai too. That was the really terrifying one. The one that made others want to get rid of her."

"Could she manipulate people? Could she be manipulating me?"

Benny laughed, indicating the question was absurd. "She's dead. Witch or not, she's dead. And no, I never saw her manipulate people, at least not directly. I mean...she had to knock me over all by herself to get me to kiss her. If she could manipulate people like that she could have had me long before."

Not-Mint was no closer than she had started. In fact, she was further away. Mint seemed like a red herring. There was another question.

"You killed me for a chip. Why?"

"You've got other things to worry about, Girlie." Benny seemed to tense at the question. His voice was more terse than when he was denying her the only identity that she considered could be her own.

Not-Mint scrunched up her face, a muscle tick she hadn't expressed until recently. "Everyone's been making it my business. It has to do with House, doesn't it?"

"How do you figure that," Benny drawled.

"Everyone's trying to make it my business. Can't get away from it. Keeps chasing me down and I keep ignoring it. Everyone in this fucking Wasteland wants a favor from me." Not-Mint hadn't realized that she was bitter over the requests of others. She was. Others expected her to help them when she was fucking up the task of helping herself.

"Who's everyone?" Benny seemed genuinely concerned.

"Well first there was that bot..."

"A Securitron?"

Not-Mint didn't miss a beat, "yes."

Benny sat up, forcing Not-Mint up as well. Their backs rested against the headboard and Benny reached for a cigarette, already learning not to offer one to Not-Mint.

"Get your Mentats, I know you're an addict." Benny coolly blew smoke in the direction opposite of where Not-Mint was sitting.

She turned at the accusation. "I'm not."

"You are. Your mouth is dry and your pupils were dilated when you first approached me. I'm not judging you. We all have our vices."

Not-Mint got out of bed and retrieved her tin, taking two of the pills in her hand. "It's not by choice. Someone shot me in the head. Doesn't do wonders for your memory." She left the bedroom to retrieve a glass of water from the other room. She found the glass and turned back towards the bedroom, heading for the bathroom taps.

Once she knew who she was, she'd give them up. It was the best promise she could make for herself at the moment. Nothing too ambitious.

"You look good like that, Girlie."

Not-Mint was not particularly ashamed of her nakedness. Whatever hold Mint had over her was still in place. Benny was familiar and safe, even though his behavior toward Not-Mint had been anything but. The false memories meant more than the flash of a bullet.

"The chip?"

"Let me worry about that."

Not-Mint just wanted to worry about herself. She dropped the subject.

That being said, Veronica had been sitting alone downstairs for almost two hours at this point. Since she wasn't killing Benny, and Benny wasn't killing her, and neither of them knew quite what was going on, it was probably best that she just leave. With a new goal in mind, Not-Mint picked up her clothes and began to dress.

"Leaving so soon? Gimme a little time and I'll be ready to tumble again." Benny shifted between characters with such fluidity it was a wonder that he knew who he was. Maybe Not-Mint's position wasn't such a strange one.

"Someone else knew my name." She considered how to explain the sensation to Benny. "He called me Callie, said he knew me."

"You're making me jealous already." Benny finished his cigarette.

Callie smiled, "he liked me, but not too much. Anyway, I remember him, faintly. Not like I 'remember' you though. The memories are sequential. Like I was Callie after I was Mint. It's hard to explain" Again, she scrunched her face. Since when did she scrunch her face?

"It's still early yet. We've got time." There was that faint hint of desperation again. Her impression of Mint must have been pretty good.

"I'll come back, I just want to talk to him again. That is, if you'll have me? Fuck this is fucked up."

Benny outright laughed. "It sure is, Girlie. But sure, come by. I'll tell Swank get one of the boys to fix up a room for your friend too."

Callie hadn't mentioned Veronica to him. But, she supposed, you didn't rise in New Vegas if you weren't perceptive.

Now fully dressed, Callie leaned over the bed, bringing her lips against Benny's. The air still sparked between them, even though she was leaving a different woman than the one who entered.


End file.
